


(i want) a sunday kinda love

by Macremae



Series: suburban au [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Kaiju, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Suburban AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: Newton looks as if he’s about to fall to the floor with laughter, his eyes sparkling. “Oh myGod. You have no idea how fucking cute you are, do you?”Hermann bristles, feeling his shoulders creep up by his ears as if to hide his blush. “I am absolutelynot,” he insists, which only makes Newton giggle harder. He takes Hermann’s hand from where it’s still outstretched and swings it back and forth in the air.“You are. You so are. It’s great.” He turns back to flip over another pancake. “Blueberries okay?”
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: suburban au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604782
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	(i want) a sunday kinda love

**Author's Note:**

> TOSHA DREW ME MY FIRST TATTOOOOO AND ITS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I'VE EVER SEEEEEEEN so i wrote more of their EXCELLENT suburban au, part one of which our friend charles wrote here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22219393
> 
> find me @bae-science on tumblr and @shakesexual on twitter for more musings on the chronic gottlieb bridezilla disorder

Hermann isn’t the kind of person who receives text messages at nine in the morning, or really, text messages _period_ , so when he’s awoken by his phone chiming on the stack of record-filled crates next to him, he fumbles it on without thinking too hard about context. 

_Vanessa: one did i leave my red bottoms at ur flat two GET IT KIIIIIIIIING_

_Vanessa: i’m soooo proud of u baby ur making friends! living life! laying the pipe or whatever u ppl call putting ur dick in something!!! spread ur little cricket wings and fly tear emoji_

Hermann summons the wakefulness to roll his eyes, and clumsily taps out a reply.

_Hermann: Yes, the shoes were on top of the microwave. Crickets do not have wings nor the anatomical structure for flight. How did you find out about this?_

_Vanessa: i’ve entered into a lesbian-centric semi-sexual thruple with ur sister and the beholding_

_Vanessa: also jules told me the second u left with the mcr stannie_

_Hermann: Don’t you have some artisanal jams to make, or cats to adopt, or whatever it is your people do on the week-end?_

_Vanessa: don’t u have a fruit farm to put out of business_

_Hermann: Read 9:26 AM_

_Vanessa: skank._

He rolls his eyes and puts his phone back down on the crates, rubbing at his face to clear the sleep away. Warm, buttery light only summoned by a summer Sunday pours through the windows of what he now remembers is Newt’s bedroom, streaking across the rumpled sheets and their clothes dropped hastily on the floor. Hermann finds his face growing warm at the memory of the night before; he’s certainly not the kind of person to engage in casual hookups, especially not with a bartender who has more tattoos than, it appears, clean clothes. 

Still, Newton is… sweet. Funny, if the jokes he cracked on the way home are anything to go by. Clearly a polite host; he’s left Hermann to sleep in, but Hermann can tell by the noises coming from the kitchen and a delicious smell that he’s not been abandoned. Perhaps a bit eccentric in his decorating taste judging from the mixture of monster movie and manga posters covering the walls, and the stickers littering the headboard, but Hermann finds it oddly charming. 

He stretches his arms above his head, wincing slightly as the joints pop. His cane is propped beside the foot of the bed, and Hermann takes it and pulls on a shirt he finds on the way to the door. It’s dark grey and has a cartoon of turtles descending down what appears to be a deep hole; apparently Newton’s lamentable taste for wordplay extends to his clothing as well.

The kitchen is bright and noisy when he enters, something that sounds like the Beach Boys playing from the speakers of Newton’s cracked phone on the counter. The man himself appears to be flipping pancakes in a skillet on the stove, humming to himself quietly and shuffling his feet to the beat. There’s blueberries in a carton beside him, and batter splattered in various places, and the scene makes Hermann’s chest do a funny sort of twist. It’s horrifically domestic.

He hangs back, unsure of how to proceed in these situations, but Newton hears the clacking of his cane on the hardwood and turns, grinning.

“Hey, you’re up! You look like the kinda guy who has a five-thirty alarm most days, so I let you sleep in.”

Hermann moves his thumb across the head of his cane, nerves rattling around in his stomach. “Er, yes,” he says awkwardly, “thank you.” Then, because it seems like the polite thing to do, “Iーah, very much appreciated last night. You were an excellent partner.” He takes a stilted step forward and gives Newton’s shoulder a single pat. “Well done.”

Newton looks as if he’s about to fall to the floor with laughter, his eyes sparkling. “Oh my _God_. You have no idea how fucking cute you are, do you?”

Hermann bristles, feeling his shoulders creep up by his ears as if to hide his blush. “I am absolutely _not_ ,” he insists, which only makes Newton giggle harder. He takes Hermann’s hand from where it’s still outstretched and swings it back and forth in the air.

“You are. You so are. It’s great.” He turns back to flip over another pancake. “Blueberries okay?”

Hermann huffs. “You’re not subtle.”

“No,” Newton says, raising a finger, “but I’m an extremely good morning-after chef, and everyone’s always said my pancakes rock.”

Hermann feels an odd little surge of something unpleasant, and he fights back a scowl. “You… do this often, then?”

Newton looks back and winks. “On the occasion. Why, you lookin’ to secure this stud muffin for yourself? Cause, I won’t lie, I’m into the whole ‘ambiguously gay Victorian scholar’ thing.”

The scowl prevails. “Don’t be smart, Newton. It doesn’t suit you.”

He blinks. “What do you mean, ‘smart’? Humans are evolved to move looks-first brains-later, dude. You think I would have chatted you up if you weren’t seriously hot?”

Hermann isn’t quite sure what to say to thatーno one has ever been so insistent of his physical attractiveness before. He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which is, “I don’t know whether that’s romantic or shallow.”

Newton shrugs. “Hey, biology is very romantic. Where do you think the concept of sex pollen came from?”

“Star Trek,” Hermann says immediately. Newton shakes his head.

“Pheromones, dude. Which, yes, did technically inspire Pon Farr, God fucking bless, but originated so far back in the evolutionary timeline of post-asexual reproduction that animals have been releasing good vibes since the dawn of squishy parts. Humans do too, just on a significantly subtler level. Where do you think the concept of a ‘gaydar’ came from?” He grins, clearly excited to be allowed to lecture this long. “Evolutionary survival instinct developed from centuries of oppression, so people under the acronym, so to speak ahistorically, could form social packs for protection without their social ‘predators’ being any the wiser. It’s actually really interesting the ways history and biology collide, especially when you get into anthropology and sociology.”

Hermann nods. “My sister is a cultural archeologist for the British museum. You two would get along swimmingly, I imagine.”

“The same sister your ex-wife ran off with?” Newton says with half a smirk.

“Well, I wouldn’t say ‘ran off’; it was more of me being politely informed that my wife was a lesbian, then me being slightly less politely informed that I was gay, and then Karla came over and helped move boxes, and then we went out for Thai.”

Newton blinks. “Dude, your family is wild.”

Hermann thinks back to the other day’s trip to the wedding baker, in which Karla had primly debated the difference between cream and eggshell icing for almost twenty minutes, and presses his lips together. “That’s… not an inaccurate statement.”

He covers his mouth with his hand to hide a laugh, then seems to pause, think for just a second, and leans up on his toes to press a brief kiss to Hermann’s lips. He pulls back, studies his shocked expression with a pleased smile, then kisses his nose the same way. 

“Iー” Hermann stutters, wrinkling his nose at Newton’s smug look. “Wーyouーwhat on Earth was that for?”

Newton tangles a finger in the hem of Hermann’s shirt and pulls him closer. “Because, as I said before, you’re extremely cute. And I personally think you deserve to be kissed a lot more than you obviously have.”

A smile sneaks, unbidden, across Hermann’s face at the strange, yet endearing compliment. “Ah. Well. I think it’s obvious for _you_ that you’re a stubborn little man who I can’t convince otherwise.”

Newton bumps his head against Hermann’s chest. “You’re correct. And smart. And also about to get some excellent pancakes.” He brings his hand down and takes Hermann’s again, holding it even as he resumes flipping the pancakes. Hermann’s hand feels warm and pulsating with a kind of buzzing tingle, and his smile widens goofily. He finds, oddly enough, he doesn’t care.

“Ridiculous,” he murmurs, but leans down to rest his head on Newton’s shoulder and enjoy, what he decides, is the kind of morning he could certainly get used to.


End file.
